


No Promises No Demands

by ambiguously



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Improvised Sex Toys, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1539452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons and Trip find a moment alone between disasters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Promises No Demands

This is war.

The closest Jemma's been to war before this was the battle with Marcia Hennessee in sixth form. No deaths, but plenty of verbal bloodshed, and she still seethes at the thought of the girl's name.

"You're cute when you growl," Trip says, running his lips down her neck. "I like it."

Jemma narrows her eyes. "Marcia. Bloody. Hennessee."

He draws away for a moment. "Growling: cute. Crazy nonsequiturs: less cute."

"Are you saying I'm not pretty?" The rules are different in war. She can't picture herself asking him in any other capacity. Too awkward, too worrisome. What if he said yes?

Trip finds her mouth and kisses her deeply. Jemma clutches the bench behind herself to keep her feet. She's been kissed before, by lovers hesitating, delicate and sweet. Antoine Triplett is powerful behind the kiss, and infuses a careful brush of lip and tongue with passion she's only wished about before now. Does war make men passionate?

Somewhere else in the facility, her friends and colleagues are searching records, combing for traces of Director Fury or better yet for a means out of this horrible situation. Jemma herself should be working on the same, or following up with her own research. A method of bringing back the dead would be especially helpful when Hydra threatens to murder everyone she knows. But she's terrified, and the handsome new man she can't stop watching is breathing into her mouth. Jemma is happy to set aside her terror as well as her work. For a while.

His hands run up her arms to massage the sore muscles. She lets out a sound of pure delight. He's welcome to rub her arms and her back. He's welcome to invade her personal space further and to....

He wraps his arms around her, drawing Jemma into a tight hug. "Are you gonna be all right?"

She lets out a breath, holding him back. "Never been better."

He huffs a laugh into her ear. "I mean it. We've all been through a lot these last few days. If you're freaking, and I wouldn't blame you, I don't want to give you another reason to be upset later."

Jemma brings in her hands to place them against his chest. His very, very nice chest, she can't help but notice. She pushes him back, and sees the flicker of disappointment before she tiptoes up and kisses him open-mouthed and ready. "I'm not upset. I don't usually do this, but we're at war. We could die tomorrow. I'd rather die happy. You?"

Rather than reply, Trip wraps his arms more tightly around her, lifting her to sit on the edge of the bench. This brings her up a bit, enough to meet him eye to eye, and nose to nose. A little tilting deals with the latter, and it's all kissing again. Jemma likes the kissing. The kissing can continue for hours. She suspects it won't. Someone will interrupt. Someone will see. Someone will embarrass her and she'll turn bright red for days each time she's in the room with this incredible man.

On balance, expecting to die within the next few days has a certain appeal.

He stops kissing her, pausing to stare into her eyes. Instinctively, Jemma ducks her face to hide. He follows her gaze, keeping contact until she reluctantly smiles. "What?"

"I'm just admiring the view. I want to keep this picture in my head when I go."

"Go where?" He's already turning his back and walking away from her. Her tongue fails her. She wants to call him back, ask him what on Earth he's doing. Then he throws the lock.

"Now we have a little privacy." With three strides he's back in her arms, and the kissing resumes. Jemma's heart races, matching the quick beat she feels under his thin shirt. "I'd hate," he says between kisses, "to be disturbed."

"Excellent plan." More kisses. "Admirable forethought." Another kiss. "If I asked you to...." She hesitates but only for a second. War makes her bold. "To fuck me, would you? Right now?"

His surprised laugh at her swearing bothers her. His hand reaching over her shirt to stroke the swell of her breast bothers her much less. "It would be an honor."

One hand continues to play with her breast. The other is busy working the fastening to her trousers. Frustrated, she bats his fingers away and does the button herself, shimmying them down her legs. The bench she's on sends cold chills through her bottom. Trip's hands and mouth are warm. His hand returns to her crotch, this time delving into her knickers and setting up a lovely, perfect rhythm against her folds without pressing in.

Jemma wriggles in an attempt to get his fingers where she wants them most, thrusting her hips as her lips falls slack. He chuckles again, sliding one digit against her slickly. "Is that what you want?"

"You. I want you."

"I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear that, but you need to be ready first."

"I am."

He rubs more. "Not yet." The hand on her tit moves up to her chin, holding her gently. The kisses come back, sweeter. She's used to these, and demands more as she nips her way into his mouth. War has no time for sweet. He responds with a second finger, manipulating her deliciously. Jemma twitches, letting sparks shoot between her legs. It's not perfect, not the way she knows herself when she strokes her own privates. A second person makes the pleasure more intense in different ways.

When he goes to his knees, she spreads her thighs to welcome his mouth on her. That smile is permanently affixed to his face, the smile telling her he knows he does this to her, knows she wants him. That he wants her back is icing. His lips go to work on her where his fingers started, teasing her open, flicking at her sensitive nub as Jemma gasps.

Beside him, on the bench, there's a thick, slick, plastic case for some device Fitz hasn't finished. Her eyes focus on the gray cylinder. Trip's eyes follow hers, and he sighs, licking a long stripe. "Oh. Oh, you are naughty."

"If I agree and say I'm a naughty girl, will you get to it?"

Trip lifts the plastic case into his hand. He glances at her, then slides it into his mouth. Washing it, she realizes. Cleaning it and moistening before....

The plastic is cold and hard sliding into her. Jemma cries out. The case stops instantly, and a warm hand touches her thigh. "Simmons?"

"I'm all right. Keep going."

He nods. Slowly, the case slips into her, pushing, filling her. She wants to watch, wants to see as every inch fills her. Her eyes snap shut regardless. Jemma moans.

"I could watch you like this all day."

"I could do this all day."

"Maybe soon," he says. It's not a promise, and it's not a request. They could be dead in an hour. She likes the idea of a plan, a future weekend spent learning every curve and plane of his body. She can hold onto that image. He thrusts the case in and out of her. A future weekend soon. Very soon. This weekend.

He leaves the case inside her, and steps back. "Did I ever mention I used to be a Boy Scout?" He digs into his wallet, and snugly kept inside is a foil wrapper. "Be prepared."

Jemma grabs his wrist. "What a coincidence." She plucks the condom from his fingers, setting it aside before she, a bit clumsily, undoes his trousers. He lets out a breathy sigh as she frees his hard, plump cock from the hot confines of his y-fronts. She rips open the wrapper with a delicate pull, and with a firm hand, she rolls the condom onto him. "I was a Girl Guide."

"A what?"

She drags him in for another kiss. He pulls the plastic out of her with a wet squelch, and a moment later, fills her again. The angle is wrong, and her next gasp is painful. His eyes are locked on her face, even if he's clearly straining to keep control. He pauses again, then with her help, shifts her weight and her position until at last, he lifts Jemma up into his arms. She's filled with him, inching her body up and down in his grip, impaling herself as he keeps a solid hold on her.

"Please," she says, aching and straining for more contact, for more friction, for MORE. Trip obliges, helping her rise and fall on him, their mouths barely pressing, too caught up in watching the pleasure crawl across each other's face.

"You are so beautiful."

"So are you," she says.

There's no room between them for words. There's no time left for endearments. This may not be love. It's certainly influenced by the wash of hormones from all the hell she's been through. Tomorrow she may be unable to meet his eyes. She may hate herself. Or she may be dead. Either way, she will not regret this moment.

She can feel him tensing. Before she can react, Trip lets out a huff, and thrusts hard into her with a mutter. Jemma drops one hand to the place where they join, her own thumb coaxing her over the edge with him.

They stand there, motionless, breathless. It's a perfect moment, caught up in each other's eyes. In a romantic film, they'd exchange vows of love.

There's a knock on the door. "Simmons? Are you in there?" It's Fitz.

"Bloody fuck," she whispers, and he laughs softly, quickly disengaging and helping her speed her clothes back on. He's quicker than she, and grabs the plastic case, dropping it into a bin along with the used condom and covering both with paper. For the best. She can retrieve the case later, if there's a later, and give it a wash.

War means no time for affectionate post-shag cuddling. Trip bends in for one more stolen kiss.

Jemma wipes her face with a hand before she unlocks the door. "Blasted thing," she says. "That's the third time today it's stuck."

"I hadn't noticed," says Fitz, pushing past her, then freezing as he sees Trip. Antoine. She should probably call him Antoine. God, she can smell him on her.

"Be right back," she says.

"Now where are you off to?"

"Loo." She glances back, and sees Trip again. She's a terrible liar, even with her face. She can't stop Fitz from following her gaze. She can't stop the calculating he's already begun. She wouldn't if she could. Jemma stands up straight, and she turns to go freshen up.

She wonders if the first shot was just fired.


End file.
